


Dancing Lessons

by BlueTheTerrible



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTheTerrible/pseuds/BlueTheTerrible
Summary: Regina gets talked into teaching Emma dancing lessons, for her upcoming wedding with Hook, by a suspiciously pushy Snow. Smut ensues, and angst will ensue in further chapters.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowsaysitsporn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowsaysitsporn/gifts).



> Inspired by snowsaysitsporn's Tumblr prompt, though it doesn't go along with exactly what was requested because I can't follow a straight line of thought for the life of me, apparently. Slightly different outline and characterizations, however there's definitely still dancing lessons, lol.
> 
> The original prompt is:
> 
> "Rated M fanfic where Regina reluctantly (after Snow’s nudging) agrees to give Emma dance lessons for her wedding. For the sake of Hook still being Hook, he admits he was taught the dance by some Spanish sea wench back in the day (I dunno) and doesn’t need lessons. Slooow burn. Well, not too slow. But slow enough.
> 
> And immediately, Regina is sucked in, physically. Emma, emotionally. But they’re too stubborn to do or say anything until it is almost too late."

“It’s not like they’re not grown adults without the ability to watch YouTube” snaps Regina in a huff.

“Yes, but you can only learn so much from YouTube” Snow reminds her, gently “Plus, it’s really better to learn formal dancing in person, so that you can learn how to move around another person. That’s how we learned, remember?”

Regina is fairly sure that Snow’s dance lessons consisted more of polite tutors, handling the delicate Princess with care and high praise – joyous occasions - rather than Cora’s insistent demands of “Again” and “It has to be perfect!” and the odd slap or pinch when she stumbled, but she doesn’t mention it. She has long since ceased to resent Snow for the vast differences in their upbringing, and this détente has actually developed into a somewhat polite, if not exactly friendly, acquaintanceship.

“I will _not_ have that filthy layabout hanging around, draped over me, using the pretext of ‘dancing lessons’ to grope my-”

“David has agreed to teach Killian!” Snow replies hastily “So it’s really just Emma that needs your help, and I don’t have the time. David would teach Emma too, but she keeps saying she’ll ‘just wing it’ on the day of, and she refuses to take lessons. I know she’d listen to you though!”

Regina gazes at her suspiciously, but Snow’s eyes dart down to the hot chocolate they are drinking and she busies herself with the exact right proportions of whipped cream to chocolate to milk, suddenly concerned with making the perfect cup.

Somehow, she ends up agreeing to instruct Emma in her spare time, though her anxiety goes through the roof when she thinks about why she’s having to teach Emma to dance, in the first place. So, she doesn’t. Think about it, that is. She has grown to care for Emma and if the woman _insists_ upon marrying that _insufferable sea rat_ , Regina will grit her teeth and do what she can to ensure that Emma, at least, shines like she deserves on her special day – a radiant flower, blooming amongst a sea of urchins, she thinks. And then stops herself.

 _This is what Emma wants._ She repeats, over and over. It doesn’t stop the ache in her chest, but it allows her to mute it, somewhat. She will not be the reason that Emma Swan doesn’t get her happy ending, she vows, and turns her attention to the – _boots on her coffee table, oh hell no._

“Are you quite committed to acting like a teenager then?” she asks wryly, though without bite, and swats at Emma’s feet until they are removed from the table.

“Move this over to the wall so we can have some room” she commands, and Emma rolls her eyes and quips “Yes, my Queen” as she shoves the coffee table to the edge of the room, biceps straining impressively, as Regina watches.

She catches Regina staring and smirks, knowingly. “Guess you picked the right person for Sheriff, huh?” she asks, laughing. “No criminals stand a chance against these suckers”. She flexes, and Regina forgets to look away for a moment, before catching herself and dryly commenting “I didn’t pick you for Sheriff, you ran a highly biased campaign, in which my easily led constituency was swayed by your blatant publicity stunts”. Emma laughs, again, and Regina swallows; making Emma laugh is dangerous because it makes her want to do it over and over again, just to hear the sound, and that is _definitely_ not a good idea.

 “What did you have in mind for your first dance?” Regina enquires awkwardly.

“Oh, you know, I was just thinking maybe like”– and she starts shuffling awkwardly back and forth, lifting her hands as though she can’t quite remember what she normally does with them, and settles for placing them on her waist instead, rotating in a small circle around the living room.

Regina stares, horrified.

“What?” Emma asks, catching her revolted gaze and dropping her hands to her sides in embarrassment.

“Absolutely not!” hisses Regina indignantly “this is your _wedding_ Emma! Weddings are formal affairs not classless middle school dances!”

Emma looks highly affronted. “Well did you have a better idea?” she snaps, sulking.

“ _Any_ idea is better than that, dear.” Regina drawls, as she makes her way to the stereo set upon the bookcase and selects a slow instrumental song.

“Come here” she entreats, and lifts her arms to beckon Emma closer. Emma edges towards her, an inch at a time, and when she’s finally close enough for Regina to take hold of, she grasps Emma’s hands and places them – one on her shoulder and one in her own outstretched hand.

“ _This_ is how you will be expected to dance, for your first dance, not that wild gesticulating” she states and Emma huffs and tries to pull away but Regina holds tight, as though she expected it “I’m not mocking you, dear, I’m simply stating a fact.” Emma relaxes slightly, and Regina absolutely _does not_ revel in the softness of the skin underneath her hands and the pliant affect of the normally brusque and argumentative Sheriff.

She realizes they aren’t dancing yet, just standing still in her living room, and sweeps Emma up a little tighter in her arms, moving in a simple back and forth rocking motion.

“Not so bad, is it? We can move from this movement into almost any dance, I suppose it depends on what you end up choosing for…well, your first dance.” She says the last bit in a rush, as though she wants to get the words out of her mouth and away from her lips as quickly as possible.

Emma glances up at her but doesn’t call her on it. “I don’t know what to pick” she admits, subdued. “I guess I never really thought about my wedding, growing up. When you’re a kid that isn’t sure if they’re going to be able to eat that night, or have a place to stay that’s safe, or when you think you’re probably not going to make it to twenty-one, you kind of don’t really make plans for the future. So, when I did find the person I wanted to- when I found Killian” she corrects “I guess I just assumed that he would have an idea of what he wanted and I would just…fit in to that…somehow.”

Regina’s heart breaks, for the tiny neglected Emma that she envisions in her mind, for the adult Emma that she sees now who feels like she has to merely fit into another person’s life, rather than be her own person, the Emma that is refusing to plan her own wedding, procrastinating even her own first dance, because she’s _just not sure_. Regina glances upwards, not wanting to meet Emma’s eyes at the moment, and risks a slow and careful outward spin. Emma gingerly turns away from her and follows Regina’s lead, under her arm, until her back is pressed against Regina, and she is held tight, once again.

“Do you think you fit into his life?” she murmurs quietly against Emma’s ear, and Emma’s skin breaks out in goosebumps. Regina has to actively bite her lip to prevent her tongue from darting out and tracing the line of goosebumps from Emma’s ear to her collarbone, but she resists, purely out of respect to Emma and her needs, and the fact that taking advantage of Emma due to an involuntary physical reaction would be absolutely unconscionable and she couldn’t bear to be met with distance and risk losing Emma’s friendship.

Emma doesn’t say anything in response to her question and she sighs, stepping back. They’ve gone through about three or four songs now and they haven’t really learned any footwork, Regina realizes. Stepping closer again she resettles Emma against her, bodies flush together, faces turned towards each other. “I’m going to show you a basic two step – it’s exactly what it sounds like. You’re going to take a step back, then another step back with that same foot, and then we’ll step to the side with the other one, as I maneuver us a bit. Okay?”

Emma looks nervous – a look that Regina can’t recall ever seeing on her before. Terror, guilt, fear, sure – those go along with saving a town, repeatedly, however, she’s not sure if she’s ever seen nervous before. It’s quite endearing and suddenly Regina regrets being harsh with Emma’s vulnerability, earlier, in letting her see her lack of dancing skill. Even if it had been absolutely appalling. She nearly snorts now, just thinking about that chaotic display, but she refrains, not wanting to spook the suddenly fragile creature in her arms, and her mirth fades to a dull, pleasant warmth instead.

She’s nearly giddy now, the sensation of Emma’s body against hers faintly overwhelming, and she tries desperately not to think about the fact that this is probably the closest she’s even been to the other woman. So close that she can feel her breasts pressed against her own, and feel her breath against her own, and almost _taste_ her scent, and -

She closes her eyes and attempts to control her breathing. In, and out. In, and out. In, and – she’s stepping forward now, first step back, second step back, and now the step out. Emma does well for her first attempt, and they naturally follow through into the second group of steps. Back, back, side. Back, back, side. Emma is trusting her more, leaning into her and letting her take control, and she is. Guiding Emma around her living room is better than any ball she’s ever attended, and she doesn’t want to stop. _This is where she’s supposed to be_ she muses idly and suddenly she remembers that this is _not_ where she’s supposed to be, this is where that _stinking gutter snipe_ is supposed to be, and here she is, blithely leading the lamb to the slaughter (metaphorically). A bolt of despair shoots through her and her breath catches as she abruptly stops moving.

Emma had fallen into a rhythm, and when Regina stops she trips over absolutely nothing and lands, hard, on the floor in a pile of limbs, with a loud exhale as the wind is knocked out of her.

“Oh Emma!” Regina cries, apologetically “I’m so sorry!” and she reaches for Emma, helping her sit up, gingerly.

“What the hell, Regina?” Emma asks, though not angrily. “I thought I was getting it?”

“You were, I just completely zoned out.” Regina admits, running her hands over Emma ( _just to check if she has any injuries,_ she tells herself) and declaring her to be unharmed. Emma coughs and stands, slowly. “Do you want to try that again?”  

Regina steps back swiftly. “No, I…” she grasps wildly for an excuse “I think I need to go get dinner started”. Emma nods, unsure of how to take this reaction and Regina can’t bear the idea of Emma leaving now, and breaking this sudden closeness they’ve managed, and she entreats Emma to stay for dinner.

Emma accepts, though Regina has to reassure her several times that it’s not an inconvenience (which has Regina bristling and aching again for the insecure child inside this woman), and asks if there’s anything she can do to help out. Regina remembers not to laugh, just in time, and tries to keep a straight face as she asks Emma to set the table. Emma glowers as though she’s been given this task too many times for it to be a coincidence, but she acquiesces, and the domesticity of Emma Swan carefully arranging place settings at the table has Regina swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat.

She makes lasagna, because she heard Snow mention once that it’s Emma’s favorite, and Emma glances at her in surprise when she starts to cook, but says nothing. She apportions the food onto their plates and they sit down, with the wine that Emma had very carefully selected and poured. It doesn’t go with the meal at all but Regina doesn’t think she’s ever cared less in her life, and she sips the poorly paired wine as though it were the most exquisite vintage she’s ever tasted.

When they finish dinner, Emma offers to clean up. Since Regina made the meal, it’s only fair - she contends - and Regina is satisfied that at least Emma can’t break the plates (she had extra strength plates ordered after a few incidents with Henry, and apparently ‘clumsy’ is genetic), so she sits back and relaxes while Emma washes up. Regina wraps herself in the nearly tangible ease and comfort with which she and the other woman co-exist. It’s pure contentment, and she knows it can be nothing more than a fleeting moment, but she intends to enjoy it to the fullest.

After dinner, they retreat to the living room again, and Regina feels calm enough to try and dance with Emma again. She puts the music back on and takes Emma up in her arms again. Her sense ignite, once more, with the closeness, however, this time it’s easier for her to control herself, thanks to the subdued nature of the alcohol flowing through her system. She relaxes into Emma, and she feels Emma do the same, as their steps become a little more complex. She tries a spin, though this time she pulls Emma all the way through and back to her, facing each other again, and they return to simply swaying back and forth once more.

“This is nice” Emma murmers against her cheek. She breathes slowly and merely nods. She revels in the softness of Emma’s cheek against her own, and she can’t help but brush her lips over Emma’s jawbone. It’s light – so light that it doesn’t need to be construed as a kiss, and Emma says nothing, and continues rocking with her.

She feels warmth building and building, exponentially inside her and she wants, more than anything in the world, to kiss Emma, slide her tongue against hers, and taste her sweetness. To lay her down and worship her body, and then to turn her over and _own_ her, to make Emma completely hers, body and soul, and she gasps slightly with the intensity of her need.

Emma pulls back, concerned, and Regina lifts her eyes to meet Emma’s, barely disguised lust brimming to the surface. But Regina has wielded control for her entire life. She is as much the product of control as Emma is the product of unstable households and too little love. She merely shakes her head and smiles tightly at Emma and continues to move, deepening their steps and showing Emma a new dance, this time without verbal instructions. This dance is more passionate, a teasing sort of push and pull, with Regina at the helm, steering their connection.

“After you are wed” Regina prides herself on the steadiness of her voice, even if it has lowered in tone and become something closer to a growl “You will be expected to dance a chaste and virtuous dance with your _new beau_ ” she tells herself that she doesn’t spit these last words out “but after this innocent dance will come others. More vulgar and unrefined.” She can’t help but punctuate the word ‘vulgar’ with the smallest of thrusts with her hips and Emma bites her lip as Regina rocks into her slightly. “In times gone by, it was expected that immediately following the wedding feast, the bride and groom would be carried to their bedchambers and their bedding witnessed by the entire court, did you know, my dear?” Emma looks up at her from under her eyelashes, as if she can’t tell if Regina is telling the truth. “Oh yes, indeed. That particular tradition has faded from modern times, luckily for us, however, the ghost of this custom still lingers in the seductive, nature of the post-wedding dancing.”

Emma is still gazing at her but her eyes have glazed over slightly, lulled by the lilt and fall of Regina’s low voice. Regina spins her around again, to mimic their earlier position – Regina’s breasts pressed against Emma’s back, her hands at Emma’s waist, Emma’s hands resting lightly on her own. She involuntarily grips Emma a bit harder, her eyes dilating and her lip curling, possessively. Emma’s hands spasm on her own, but they don’t move to interfere with Regina’s firm direction.

“Show me how you intend to dance with him.” Her tone brokers no refusal. Emma is frozen, but not pulling away, not running. Regina moves her lips to Emma’s ear and whispers “Show me, Emma.”

Emma seems to come back to herself, when she hears Regina speak her name, and her hands twine with Regina’s and she pulls them closer, wrapping Regina around her waist like the leather jacket she wears – soft but familiar and full of comfort. Regina shudders and has to restrain herself from nipping at Emma’s neck, though it is bared to her, as Emma lets her head drop backward, onto Regina’s shoulder.

 _What are you doing…_ Regina asks herself, but she pushes the thought to the far recesses of her mind as Emma seems to be capitulating to her demands, and there is no power in the universe that could stop Regina from accepting Emma’s touch, however masochistic Regina knows it is.

Slowly, as though without conscious thought, Emma rotates her hips back, to press into Regina’s core. A teasing slide of fabric against fabric, and she is gone again, reaching one hand up and back, to entwine her fingers in to Regina’s hair and pull her even closer against her neck. The other hand, still on top of Regina’s guides Regina’s hand to her stomach, and Regina takes it upon herself to interpret the movement as Emma wanting her to slide her hand under the soft cotton and onto Emma’s _ridiculously_ , she thinks, defined stomach muscles.

Emma shudders at the contact and continues to rotate her hips against Regina, who groans slightly, and exhales against Emma’s neck. Again, goosebumps fly across Emma’s skin, but this time Regina doesn’t stop herself. Her tongue darts out to flick against cool skin and Emma whimpers, her hand tightening in Regina’s hair. Regina’s hands constrict against Emma’s waist and her fingers press into the soft but firm edges of Emma’s hips. Emma is breathing hard, and she freezes as Regina’s tongue traces a path from ear to collarbone, and she whispers a strangled “please”.

Regina’s whole world freezes, a split second that stretches into infinity, and her brain is electrified by a thousand pulsing neurons that shatter like stars.

She makes her decision, and a split second later she is spinning Emma around, sliding a hand to the back of Emma’s neck and finally, _finally,_ Emma’s lips are pressed against hers. She takes and takes, drinking Emma in like the rarest of nectars, sliding her tongue into Emma’s mouth to taste her further. She can’t get enough, it’s nowhere _near_ enough, and she hears whimpering against her mouth as Emma reaches to cup her jaw, cradling it in both hands like fragile glass. She groans, and slides her hands, once again, under the hem of Emma’s tee shirt, sliding up slightly as their bodies crash together, Emma clinging to her, like she’ll never let go.

They fall, still entangled, back against Regina’s couch. Regina is seated and Emma has somehow managed to climb even closer, straddling Regina’s hips to sit astride her, and she feels them _fitting together_ , seamlessly. Emma is rocking against her, unconsciously, Regina can feel her heat, pressed close, on the muscles of her abdomen. She can taste Emma’s need on her tongue, can feel Emma’s keening in the back of her throat, and the desperation on her lips.

She reaches a hand up and under Emma’s shirt, caressing the heated skin she finds, sliding up still farther, reaching below the flimsy cloth barrier, to brush the underside of Emma’s breasts. Emma’s lips wrench away from hers as she gasps for air but Regina is quick to recapture them, not wanting to be parted from Emma’s sweet taste for even a single moment, and Emma groans as Regina boldly cups the soft flesh, her thumb sliding across Emma’s skin possessively, Emma’s nipples hardening into points.

 _So sensitive_ she thinks, when she feels gooseflesh erupt, succeeding the trails of Regina’s fingertips across Emma’s chest, and she impatiently wrestles Emma’s shirt up - _Off, this needs to come off._ Emma helps her, reaching with both hands to tug the offending garment over her head, sliding her bra off as well, baring herself to Regina’s smoldering gaze. Regina groans, need coursing through her as she pulls Emma closer to her, once more, and draws a succulent nipple into her mouth. Emma cries out and she lathes her tongue back and forth across the tightening peak as she grips Emma tighter to her, _needing_ to extract more sounds of pleasure from the stunning creature in her arms.

She rakes her nails down Emma’s back, causing Emma to sob with need - to simultaneously push forward and pitch back - both escaping and embracing the sensation. Emma’s head is thrown back in ecstasy, leaving her neck exposed, like a supplication, and Regina accepts it, sucking hard on the bared skin, delighting in the light mark she leaves – proof that she was there, that Emma was hers, even if only for a moment – that this was real, that this happened, that this is _happening_.

Emma is panting now, grinding into Regina, sheer power and restrained strength, feeling like a rocket, ready to go off at any minute, waiting only for ignition, and Regina wants to be the one to set her off. She reaches down and undoes the button on Emma’s jeans, roughly pulling Emma up at an angle so she can wedge them down, just enough for her purposes.

"Open" she says coarsely, with two fingers on Emma's lips, and Emma does - opens her mouth wide and takes Regina's fingers deep inside, sucking and wetting them, closing her eyes and moaning at the sensation – causing vibrations to spread down Regina’s hand and forearm, and Regina doesn't think she's ever seen anything so perfect, so becoming, in her life. If she has, she can't think of it, right now. She can't think of anything right now, save her paramount need to be inside her. This mantra pounds inside her head like a primal chant, over and over, and she heeds it.

“Look at me” she chokes out, and Emma’s eyes meet hers at the last second as she reaches down and sinks into her slick wet heat, her fingers enveloped by plush velvet, pressing deeper and deeper until she is as far as Emma can take her. Regina sobs with relief as she is finally where she needs to be, Emma’s eyes fluttering even as she struggles to maintain their eye contact and Regina gently presses their foreheads together, so that they are breathing each other’s air, and kisses the corner of Emma’s mouth as Emma pants harshly, groaning at the sensation of Regina filling her.

Regina doesn’t move, simply holds there, peppering soft kisses along Emma’s jaw, murmuring nothing words against her heated skin, running her free hand up and down Emma’s taut back soothingly, as Emma unconsciously rubs her cheek against Regina’s, moaning to herself, submissively covering the darker woman in her scent - back and forth - _like a cat_ , Regina thinks.

She’s waiting for Emma to give her a sign that she’s ready, and Emma does, after a moment – rocks against Regina’s fingers ever so slightly - lifting up and sinking back down again, fucking herself with infinitesimally small movements, begging without words, and Regina growls softly and thrusts gently, causing Emma to cry out. She pulls out slightly, and Emma sobs at the loss, but Regina doesn’t let her suffer for long, pushing back in and stretching Emma’s walls around her again, and revels in the sensation of Emma’s body adjusting to accommodate her.

Emma is so wet, Regina can hardly think, as she slides in and out of her, reveling in the noises she wrings from Emma’s body. _Emma’s body_ , so lithe and muscular, gleaming with sweat, and trembling with strain as she rises and falls on Regina’s makeshift phallus, created for her pleasure alone, and Regina _takes_ everything Emma has to give her, and gives it right back, inserting herself inside Emma’s body, stretching her again and again, building to a crescendo.

She slides another finger in, and it's tight, Emma's shaking and trembling with the effort, but she'll take it, Regina knows she will. Emma will gift her this, she doesn't even have to ask, just take what she wants, and what she wants is Emma spread wide and stuffed full - because of her, for her, with her. She thrusts in again, a little harder than she intended, and Emma whimpers, though not in discomfort, Regina thinks, and she can tell that Emma likes to mix a little pain with her pleasure. “Shhhh” Regina chokes out “shhhh, I know. I know it aches. But oh, God, Emma, you feel so good.” She’s lost in a frenzied need, nearly manic, as she loses her carefully constructed layers of control.

Emma cries out at Regina’s affirmation. She's clinging to the edge with white fingertips, barely hanging on by a thread, Regina can tell with a glance - sobbing with the effort of holding her orgasm back.

She slams into Emma, and Emma gives as good as she gets, fucking herself, hard, on Regina’s fingers, dripping down Regina’s wrist and crying out with desire, hips crashing down again and again, wringing Regina’s fingers with her internal muscles.

“Please!” she sobs, and Regina can deny her nothing, never could, and she assents by biting into Emma’s shoulder. Emma is forced into place, frozen and immobilized, strung like a spit between Regina’s fingers inside her, teeth clamping down on her, and hand pressing into her lower back.

Emma lets out a wail - spasms around Regina, milking her fingers, and Emma’s hands clutch wildly at Regina’s back, fingernails biting through layers of fabric to leave sharp points etched into skin. Regina draws Emma’s pleasure out as long as she can, and Emma collapses again her, spent and limp in Regina’s arms, nuzzling deliriously into the crook of Regina’s neck, whimpering softly, and Regina gently extracts her fingers from Emma and wraps her arms tightly around her, stroking her back firmly, and pressing Emma to her.

Emma is pliant and drowsy in Regina’s arms and Regina can’t bear to break the tentative connection they have, so she merely stretches out on the couch and tugs a throw blanket down over them, keeping Emma cradled in her arms. She strokes Emma’s back, running her fingertips up and down bare skin, comfortingly, lulling her into sleep. And she does sleep, her body sags down into Regina, and Regina can’t help but wrap her arms around Emma, her Emma ( _not her Emma_ ), and covet the pressure of Emma’s weight on top of her. She feels warm and content, and she can’t stop herself from following Emma into slumber, praying that when she wakes up, Emma won’t hate her, but unable to regret this one, shining moment, between them.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having some writer's block with this one, so I hope you'll forgive the slow updates. 
> 
> Feedback appreciated!

When Emma does wake, some time later, it is with a start. She rips herself off of Regina, as though burned, and flies back across the room in a panic, cursing “shit” as she presses the shaking heels of her hands to her temples. “ _Shit!_ ”

She grabs her shirt and bra and tugs them on, haphazardly, raking fingers through her blonde curls, and looking anywhere but at Regina, who is still on the couch, stomach clenching in fear and anguish, wanting desperately to reach out to Emma, hold her, and comfort her, but she knows her touch would be unwelcome, and more of a trigger than a support.

"Emma, please" she implores, voice cracking, curling down in her seat slightly so she appears smaller to Emma, less of an immediate threat - doesn't back her into a corner, leaves her path to both exits clear. She knows the feeling of being trapped, more than most, and she swears that she will never be the one to make Emma feel that way.  
  
"Emma, please don't run" she says softly, the allegorical lion approaching the metaphorical lamb, in pursuit of a tentative peace treaty, "we can talk about this, please don't go."  
  
Emma’s fingers tap out a nervous staccato on her crossed arms, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, a tense bundle of nerves, shaking with what Regina expects is dread, and her heart breaks, with the knowledge that _she_ is the cause of Emma’s pain.

“This never happened” Emma chokes out, her voice tilts upwards, shaking, and Regina isn’t sure if she’s asking or telling. “This never happened”, she repeats, tries to assert firmly, but her voice breaks and her eyes water, and she turns and flees - out the door before Regina can even stand, to try and… _to try and what_?

Regina lets her go, has _no choice_ but to let her go. She collapses back against the couch, the pain in her chest feeling like a dagger, thrust to the hilt, and she covers her face and sobs, tears running down her cheeks. She knows that this is indefensible, _why_ did she have to malign Emma’s happy ending, just to chase her own. Some leftover vestiges of always being on the side of the manipulative dark, she reflects wildly, some inherent evil, insipid and inside her, _stupid_. She hugs the throw blanket to her and curls up on the couch, Emma’s scent still surrounding her, and cries and cries, until she has no tears left to shed - merely staring into the darkened living room blankly, numb at last - finally succumbing to a fitful sleep.

She greets the morning sun, instead of the other way around, already moving around the empty cavernous house before the dawn has risen, clad in her professional garments, each progressive layer another wall of armor, another defense laid, to shutter her from the outside world. She is feeling particularly vulnerable today, so she sharpens her lipstick like a double-edged sword, ready to thrust or parry at the first hint of intrusion or threat to her carefully constructed shield.

City Hall seems louder than usual today, to Regina’s ears, more intrusive, and she stays within her office as much as she can manage without seeming like she’s being avoidant. Eventually, however, she’s forced to leave her self-inflicted exile by multiple inter-office notifications from her secretary, which escalate in a remarkably short time frame from polite reminders to barely concealed threats, about her round table meeting with the various department heads of the town that she is late for. A meeting that her secretary not so delicately reminds her that _she set up_.

Sighing, she locks her computer and collects her paperwork. She really does think this meeting will be useful – she had recently been brainstorming ways to make the town workings more effective and she had decided to call a discussion forum with a representative present from each department, to see what each sector needed and to potentially discuss improvements. She genuinely enjoys running Storybrooke, it’s something she truly excells at, she demands the highest standards from herself and has a knack for extracting the best from others as well. _And since that knack no longer results in fireballs_ she thinks, a little guiltily, her current brand of leadership works out to be in everyone’s best interest.

Except now she has to attend a meeting, at which the Sheriff’s Department is to be present, and the Sheriff Department’s representative is, of course, to be Emma.

Mentally framing curses, she stalks into the meeting, head held high, power suit in place, refusing to look around the room, merely setting up her notepad and arranging everything just so. When she finally does glance up, she specifically does _not_ look towards Emma, unable to handle what she expects will be a glare, a judgment of the worst kind - due to its truth and accuracy - a scathing commentary on her façade as a human being.

She listens to the various and sundry complaints of the department heads, and even hears a few compliments thrown in here and there, which she appreciates (she really _has_ been trying very hard). Eventually there is only one department left that she has not heard from and she grits her teeth and turns her gaze towards Emma.

Emma looks like she hasn’t slept in a week, though Regina knows it’s only been hours. Her eyes are red rimmed, dark circles hugging the sockets as she slumps lower in her chair, sipping a to-go cup of coffee, gazing at the conference room wall, clearly not paying attention to the proceedings whatsoever.

Regina clears her throat gently - she still takes care not to startle Emma – but Emma whips around, as if Regina’s exhalation had been a gunshot instead, her coffee slopping across the table and waterfalling off the edge onto the Sheriff’s shirt. Emma stares at it, unmoving, as the liquid pools in her lap, frozen, but Regina reacts almost instantly, whipping off her scarf and moving around the table, _merely a reaction from years of parenting an equally clumsy child_ , she tells herself.

Emma starts as she sponges up the spill from her shirt, taking care to lift the fabric away from Emma’s scalded stomach. Her hand slips under the cloth as she renders aid, the back of her fingers accidentally brushing Emma’s skin, and Emma stands suddenly, shoving back from the table, pushing Regina away.

“Shit, sorry.” She chokes out, “I’d better go-” and she flees from the room.

Regina sighs and stands. “Thank you all for coming, I appreciate your feedback, greatly. I believe we’ll conclude here for now.” The department heads file out, one by one, murmuring polite thanks for her consideration, and she lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Clearly Emma wanted nothing to do with her, even insomuch as her help, and that hurt more than if Emma had screamed at her, insulted her, challenged her.

She gathers her things and makes her way back to her office. She slumps at her desk and leans forward, resting her face in her hands, elbows leaning on the cool glass of her workspace, rubbing her eyes and letting out a groan. She hadn’t meant to fuck things up for Emma, had simply been unable to resist taking the woman, tasting her, feeling her skin. Her love for the other woman had merely been too close to the surface that night, ignited by the intimacy of their dancing and the ambiance of the moment, the wine dulling her resistance, and quickening her heart. She was habitually well used to making sure that her interest was undemonstrative – politely helping with Emma’s wedding, being an ally as much as could be expected, supporting her as much as possible. The last thing she wanted was to destroy the other woman’s happy ending.

Emma deserved happiness. Her life had been nothing more than painful memory after painful memory, and Regina knew it was all due to her and her overwhelming anger and despair in the past, her revenge had created the other woman, but she was torn between regretting that it had happened, and being completely aware that if Emma had not had the _exact_ life that she had had, she would not be the person, _the wonderful, strong, beautiful person,_ that Regina knew today.

She resigned herself to the fact that maybe this was her life now. Maybe Emma would just avoid her forever. Maybe she deserved that. Maybe _someday_ , after the wedding was said and done, and Emma officially belonged to…to that _absolute waste of eyeliner, seriously that’s what you’re calling a ship, barely even a coracle_ , maybe then they could start re-establishing their relationship. Their platonic, completely benign and chaste relationship, to be sure, just friends nothing more.

Regina ground her teeth, this was getting her nowhere. She stood up, throwing her leftover paperwork into her leather satchel, and strode towards the door, already looking forward to a stiff drink and a solitary cry in her study, at home. Throwing open the door, she nearly ran smack into Emma who was standing on the other side, hand raised in a ridiculous caricature of knocking.

Emma’s eyes widened – clearly she hadn’t fully decided if she was ready to face Regina in such close proximity yet, and having had the option pulled out from under her, she looked a little shell shocked at the immediacy of the other woman. Regina sucked in a breath, stepping backwards to allow Emma a tiny bit of space, but not enough that it could be misread as defeat. She will not be cowed into flight, however tempting that option may seem, at the moment. This is _her_ town, Emma is ‘last in, first out’, between them, and even though she doesn’t return Regina’s feelings, she _will_ respect the fact that this is _Regina’s_ territory, Regina thinks wildly, as if she’s ever had a choice when it comes to what Emma does.

Emma takes the smallest step forward into Regina’s office, shoulders raised in an instinctual act of defense, and Regina tries not to take it personally, but it still sets her on edge. Regina crosses her arms across her chest, chin raising slightly, jaw setting as she waits for Emma’s attack.  However, the anticipated offensive never comes. Instead, Emma shrugs and raises a self-conscious hand to the back of her neck awkwardly, and gestures to her still coffee drenched shirt.

“I, uh…do you have an extra shirt I can borrow?” she asks Regina in a halting voice, as if she’s not sure if she’s going to be dismissed summarily, or not. Regina’s eyebrows raise in surprise and she turns abruptly towards her desk, walks to the lowest drawer, and pulls out a gym shirt she has saved there, for the days where she leaves straight from work to go exercise.

She tosses the shirt to Emma and perches on the edge of her desk, one ankle tucked behind the other, hands clutching the edge of the table as she stares at Emma brazenly, waiting for her to initiate the next move. Emma just stands there, clutching the tee shirt, as she gazes at Regina, her deer in the headlights expression causing Regina’s heart to melt, even through her cool exterior.

She knows Emma, she knows her expressions, has seen them mirrored in her son’s face hundreds, perhaps thousands of times, knows every muscle movement, possibly before Emma even does. She knows that Emma is debating fleeing, sees flashes of what might be guilt, observes tightening muscles that speak of indecision, constrictions that bely uncertainty and confusion.

She wants nothing more than to reach forward and pull Emma into an embrace, to offer comfort and consolation, but if she does that, it really will end in nothing more than obsequious and conciliatory placating. Empty promises and words that she doesn’t mean, and she’s _so tired_ of keeping up appearances, of presenting an affectation of compliance, of showing only mild support and polite interest in Emma’s upcoming nuptials instead of the genuine anguish and malice she wears on the inside, keeps safely tucked away in a knot in her stomach, keeps compassionately bundled in the far reaches of her consciousness.

So, she says nothing, willing the other woman to make the first move. Emma looks like she’s struggling, Regina is deliberately letting the silence linger, hoping Emma will fill it, because she herself can’t bear to, and Emma does.

“I don’t know how to handle this” she blurts out.

Regina sighs, her heart sinking. Emma’s hands shake as she twists the shirt between her fingers, and tears threaten to fall out of her watering eyes. She is only a few years younger than Regina but she is _so_ much younger in her soul, and Regina feels an even sharper pang of guilt pressing against her sternum as she watches Emma crumble.

Her body won’t allow her to sit still when Emma is so clearly hurting, and she strides across the room - not touching Emma, in case she accidentally makes things worse - just closing the door behind her, and walking over to the set of chairs in front of her desk and sitting in one, looking up at Emma in a wordless invitation. Emma seems to accept, because she’s warily stepping forward, inch by inch, until she is close enough to drop into the chair opposite Regina.

She holds Regina’s shirt to her chest, unconsciously, like a child with a stuffed animal, and Regina’s heart breaks. She reaches out slowly, with both hands, giving Emma time to pull away, but she doesn’t, and Regina’s hands rest gingerly atop Emma’s own. She uncurls Emma’s clenched and tremoring fingers, and hold her wrists softly in her own, turned upwards, her thumbs caressing the ridges of the sensitive skin.

Emma shivers, but doesn’t pull away, and her fingertips come down to rest on Regina’s forearms in turn. Regina murmurs, “Emma, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Emma’s body tenses, but Regina continues massaging her skin gently, soothing her. “You haven’t. What happened-” her voice cracks and she has to swallow hard to control her voice, ducking her head down, before she tries again. “What happened last night wasn’t your fault. It was entirely mine. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I’m so sorry. I know you may not be able to forgive me right now, but-”

Emma’s fingers suddenly close, vice-like, over her arms. Regina looks up and Emma’s face is drawn, her lips firmly set in a line, and her eyes piercing. “You think _you_ took advantage of _me_?” she says, incredulously. Regina’s mouth parts slightly, she isn’t sure what Emma means, and she has no response prepared for this statement.

Emma bites her lip and Regina tries desperately not to be drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, but she fails miserably. Emma breathes out, not noticing Regina’s gaze, and says shakily “I feel like _I_ took advantage of _you_. You’ve been so nice, helping out with…well…with everything and I completely fucked it up and I’m really scared that you’re going to hate me, and I just…I can’t lose you, Regina, I _can’t_ ” she finishes with a sob and Regina has crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, all thoughts of self-preservation gone in an instant, dropping to her knees between Emma’s legs, and enveloping Emma in a bear hug, tugging the other woman into her.

She clutches Emma’s hair and holds her tightly, as Emma seems to fall into her, her face in Regina’s neck, her hands clutching Regina’s back as though she’s a precious thing that Emma can’t bear to let go of, and Regina is so overwhelmed with the feeling of being needed that it nearly takes her breath away. When she can speak again, all she can do is whisper reassurances that Emma won’t lose her, that she’ll never lose her, that she’s here for Emma, no matter what, over and over until her voice gives out.

It’s true. She needs Emma as much as Emma needs her, whatever the circumstance, and if Emma has to pretend that this didn’t happen, in order to stay whole, there’s nothing she can do but let her. Her own feelings be damned, she will _not_ be the one to drive Emma away, she’ll die before she lets Emma’s abandonment issues tiptoe back inside her head and lie to her. _She can do this_ , she thinks to herself.

If this is what Emma needs, then this is what Emma will get.  


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chipperdyke is god for the inspiration.
> 
> I portrayed Hook as being not a complete dick because I feel like Emma wouldn't be with him in the first place if they weren't at least partners in crime. I think they share a lot of characteristics, maybe two sides of a coin, and it always makes me twitch when I see him portrayed as abusive (unless that's the point of the fic). I wrote him as being pretty chill, in this small mention, and if I work him in later I'll do the same. Our Emma doesn't stand for people she dislikes, she's just all in a tizzy right now. Even strong-ass people get life whirlpools sometimes. Cheers. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy :)

The crisp fall air wrapped around Regina as she inhaled the sweet aroma of her tea. She had always been partial to the changing of the seasons - summer giving way into autumn, colors turning darker, scarves becoming thicker, and the community banding closer together - some sort of instinctual bonding before the darkest nights of the year, a remnant left in their genetic memory perhaps. Also, people tended to be more forgiving around the holidays, she had noticed. More inclined to speak to her, anyways, if that was anything to go by.

She loves sitting here on the front porch of the diner watching the sun rise over the little shops and quaint buildings she had so carefully created for her town. Her eyes are bright with the wind, her cheeks pink, and she wraps her plum colored scarf around her neck a little tighter. She’s using her cup for warmth, the beverage comforting her chilly fingers, and a pleasant heat spreads through her as she sips the liquid, content in her moment of peace.

Granny's diner is always full. It feels a bit like even though everyone lives in separate houses, they all share a single dining room, upon which everyone converges for chatter and laughter and the mutual sharing of love and joy and news, whether good or bad. She’s not sure if she’s quite gotten used to the closeness of so many excited and happy people pressed together in one place, and though she’s long since been (mostly) accepted by them, she still struggles to not become overstimulated, in an environment so entirely foreign to her.

Ending up on the porch as a coping strategy had turned into a private indulgence of hers. She treasured her moments of quiet contemplation, enjoying the sensation of being in proximity to the frenzied happiness, without actually being in the eye of the storm - much like watching Henry tear into presents on Christmas, while sitting back and watching safely from the couch.

Her eyes rose to the entrance of the small courtyard as a mop of tousled blonde hair made its way over to her, dropping into the chair opposite. She nudged a second cup towards Emma who took it, grunting gratefully, and chugged half of the lukewarm coffee inside.

“Swear to God I don’t care what the dress costs, no sale is worth getting up this early” she grumbles, couching her head into her arm on the table, pulling her beanie down farther to block the glare of the rising sun from her eyes.

Regina laughs, reaching over and pulling the beanie down so that it covers Emma’s eyes completely. “Go to sleep then, and I’ll wake you up when your mother gets here”. Emma bats her hand away, grinning, and ends up tangling Regina’s fingers in her own, shrugging at her questioning look. “I’m cold?” Regina rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t let go, maintaining the pretext of conserving warmth, taking care not to think about how she  _ definitely  _ doesn’t hold hands with any of her other friends.

It’s been awkward, being around Emma these few days after their shared moment, but not as awkward as she thought it would be. It’s actually fairly easy, provided they don’t make any mention of anything that could even possible be misconstrued as a double entendre, and maintain a solid and carefully constructed distance between themselves at all times.

It’s easier still because she’s almost certain that Emma hasn’t seen Hook in the last few days. She isn’t ready to see them together, isn’t ready to think about them possibly sharing a bed, or worse still sharing those tiny looks of comfortable love and affection that couples do, speaking a language all their own, and communicating without words. However, as far as she knows, Emma has been staying at her parent’s, ostensibly for the reason of wedding planning, but as she hasn’t had a near steady stream of too-bright text messages from Mary-Margaret asking her opinion on pastries, or whatever has caught her fancy that hour, she doesn’t think they’ve made much headway.

_ Speaking of Mary-Margaret... _

Her phone chimes, and she slides her finger across the screen to unlock it, without letting go of Emma. She sighs. “Apparently your mother will not be joining us this morning. How convenient.”

Emma pops her head up, “What? It was her idea! She literally told me five  _ seconds  _ ago that she would meet me here when she was done showering.”

Regina suspects that Snow has ulterior motives for her noticeable absence, but she doesn’t divulge her suspicions to Emma. She’s not sure what the right move is here - they had convened in order to take advantage of some sale or other that Snow had found, at the local dressmaker. Were they supposed to wait and reschedule?

_ Come to think of it, did towns of less than 500 people even have “flash sales” or whatever Snow had called it? _

“Apparently, she’s developed a ‘sudden and intense headache, that requires immediate and prolonged bed rest’” she reads off her screen, dryly.

Emma looks nervous and Regina can visibly see her retreating.

“Should we still go? I mean, should we wait for Mary-Margaret, like go another day, or…?”

Pre-wedding Emma wouldn’t have been caught dead retreating from absolutely anything, and she wonders at the frailer, more subdued version of Emma before her now. Indecisiveness is ill fitting on a woman like this one, and though she doesn’t think it’s her place to initiate a discussion about it, she thinks she may soon have to, anyway. Her Emma isn’t a wilting flower, her Emma is a flower in bloom, casting her petals wherever she damn well pleases.

_ Not her Emma _ .

She makes a decision for the two of them, driven somewhat by the need to galvanize Emma, even if it’s in a direction that sends pangs through her, as long as it’s  _ somewhere _ . “Yes, we’re still going. You are more than capable of selecting a wedding dress for yourself. Come on.” She hauls a somewhat unsteady Emma up, linking their arms together, and strolling down the street towards the shop.

Staying on safe topics like the weather, their son’s latest hobby, the most recent threat to the town, Emma going off night shifts, the newest movies the town theater has gotten in, the diner’s seasonal coffee creations, and other such banal chatter propels them unscathed to the interior of a tiny dress shop that Regina has never even seen before, much less set foot in, in her life.

She’s actually not sure if she’s in a store or a closet, the place is so crammed full of fabric and finery that she feels like she might drown in lace and satin. Practically swimming to the counter they alert the shop owner to their presence, and the sweet old woman behind the counter drags them happily to a back room (or, a closet within a closet, depending on who you ask), and offers them complimentary champagne, which Regina accepts, gratefully.

Sipping her glass, she busies herself with rifling through a selection of sample jewelry, as Emma ducks behind a screen and tries on the first dress, trying to imagine any of these gaudy pieces draped around Emma’s sleek neck, but failing miserably. She’s trying to figure out if this one is the  _ actual  _ Heart of the Ocean, from Titanic, when she hears “What do you think?” from across the room.

Turning, her lips part and she sucks in air as though she’s never tasted oxygen before. Emma is a vision in bright white, her creamy shoulders bare, and her hands running self-consciously over her arms, as though she is completely oblivious to the fact that she’s rendered Regina incapable of speech. She looks at herself in the mirror and shrugs, the motion so undeniably Emma that Regina can breathe again, and she takes a swig from her drink, before replying “It’s beautiful.”

She’s proud that her voice is nearly steady, congratulating herself on the monumental effort she’s put in, but Emma frowns, nose wrinkling, poking at the fabric like it’s a seemingly unappetizing dish at a stranger’s house - something you’ve been told to try, to be polite, but you’re not sure you can trust.

“I don’t think it’s really...me…” she says, forlornly, and Regina moves closer, stepping up to Emma’s back and smoothing the gown down around Emma’s curves. “You look...” she isn’t sure how to finish this, and settles for “...amazing.” It comes out in a husk, her voice a touch raspy - lower than normal. Emma shivers, her fingers running along the seam of the waistline, with trepidation. Regina tries her best to be helpful, merely a dutiful friend, and not revel in the sensation of the other woman beneath her fingers, but it’s a losing battle. She steps away a few inches to put a safety net between them, and watches Emma in the glass, trying to read her face.

 

She can see Emma becoming increasingly uncomfortable within the confines of the dress, pulling on the fabric as though it’s too tight, shifting with anxiety and, if Regina didn’t know better, she might even say sadness fringing on despair. Still, she meets Emma’s eyes in the mirror, and smiles, attempts a calming tone. “Well, if you don’t like it, dear, there’s at least a hundred other options in this back room alone.”

Emma seems to take this as bad news, rather than good, her eyes darting around the walls like she’s looking for exits, overwhelmed with the beginnings of a panic attack, and Regina sees her hands reach out and brace herself, as if she’s preventing herself from toppling over. Her breath starts coming faster, and she raises her hands to her face, framing its sudden paleness with her hands, sinking slowly onto the raised platform.

“Emma?” Regina asks, concerned, and she attempts to help the other woman sit down on the dais. Emma shakes her head, without words, and lays back against a box, closing her eyes, almost hyperventilating, throwing her arm over her eyes as if to block out the room.

Regina texts Snow a simple “S.O.S.” and sits down with Emma, rubbing her hand soothingly over Emma’s calf muscles, speaking quietly, unsure how to help, cursing herself internally for having pushed too far, too fast.

Snow is there, barely two minutes later - through the door and at Emma’s side in a matter of seconds. Regina pulls back and lets Snow closer, watching as Emma instinctively reaches for her, arms wrapping around her, not exactly crying, but breathing harder than could be considered normal, and Regina has never seen Emma look so vulnerable, so young, and so scared, all at once. Snow doesn’t hesitate, catching her up like a child, like  _ her  _ child, which, to be fair, she  _ is _ .

“Mom, I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I can’t, I can’t.”

"Oh my  _ baby _ " Snow says, like her heart is breaking for Emma. She hugs Emma to her chest tighter, eyes closed, a tremulous and nostalgic smile breaking over her features, and Regina has never felt more completely that this is  _ Emma’s mother _ . This is Snow White who has an indomitable spirit and a pure heart, instead of Mary Margaret who likes to talk with birds and has an unhealthy obsession with pastels.

She comforts Emma like it’s second nature, ingrained in her veins, and maybe it is. She gives everything to Emma, pours strength through her presence and her touch, cradling Emma like she’s the most fragile piece of glass.

Emma’s head is in her lap, breathing easier now, curled against Snow’s stomach, just like Henry used to do with Regina when he was sick or tired, too exhausted to move, but too upset to not be close. Regina moves to give them some space, feeling awkward, like she's intruding on their private moment, but Snow shoots her a sharp and knowing look that makes her retake her seat.

Snow strokes her fingers through Emma's curls, murmuring softly "you know, I only got to meet you face to face for a few minutes before I had to put you in that cupboard. It's still, to this day, the  _ hardest  _ thing I've ever done. But I talked to you every single day for  _ nine months _ before that. When you were making me nauseous, I would talk to you and tell you that you were worth it, and it was okay, and that I knew you were going to grow up and be something amazing. When you kicked, I would put my hand over you and quiet you down, and tell you that you were strong and fierce. When I couldn't sleep I would walk the grounds, late at night, and talk to you. Sometimes you were the only person I would talk to for days. I would tell you about my dreams for your future and how much I loved you, I promised you over and over that I would keep you safe, that I would give you nothing but the best, because you deserved it. You still do.”

Emma blinks sleepily and glances up at Snow, like she’s not sure where this is going, but she doesn’t want her to stop talking, like maybe she’s never heard herself being loved through someone else’s voice before. Snow laughs, and kisses her forehead, smoothing her hair away from her face, gently. “What I’m saying is, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. And it’s not up to anyone else to define what your happiness means. So if this isn’t what you want, that’s  _ okay _ . That’s  _ okay _ , baby girl, it doesn’t have to be.”

Emma groans and puts her hands over her face. “I  _ thought  _ it was what I wanted. I did. I really thought that what he and I had was  _ good _ , but…”

Snow sneaks a glance at Regina who feels dizzy, as though she didn’t eat enough this morning, trembly, and short of breath, and she rests a hand on her stomach to steady herself. Snow’s eyes linger on Regina, holding her gaze meaningfully, as she prompts Emma. “But maybe you realized that it wasn’t?”

Emma’s voice is small, unsure of the words, if not the sentiment behind it. “Yeah.” She exhales sharply, the revelation finally having been said aloud. Regina isn’t sure she’s heard properly, she shakes her head, still dazed.

Snow nods, understandingly. “Sometimes we don’t know what we’re missing until we happen upon something or someone that highlights the absent parts.”

Emma nods, slowly. “I think Killian and I are just really good friends, and I thought it was more, and I let myself get carried away because I thought it was maybe what you wanted? I know it’s what  _ he  _ wanted.” She looks up at Snow, who doesn’t chastise her for her somewhat naive explanation, merely nods in understanding, running a comforting hand up and down Emma’s shoulder. “It’s not what I want” she finishes, more firmly.

She defends the man quickly, though, even from herself. "He's not a bad guy. I mean, he's a  _ villain _ , but he's not a bad  _ guy _ , you know? Well, I mean he's  _ sort  _ of a villain, he's really more of a henchman. Well he  _ tries _ , anyway."

Regina snorts, unable to help herself, her dislike of the pirate not tempered one bit by Emma’s admission of a change of heart. Snow hushes her with a glare. “He is, honey, he’s sweet, but if he’s not the one, then he’s not the one.”

Regina slips out of the room then, exiting the tiny building, unable to take another moment of the exchange, no matter how harshly Snow glares at her in warning. Her chest feels like it’s about to burst with the overwhelming urge to sob with relief. She gasps with the intensity, bracing a hand on the rough brick wall outside the shop, breathing in the cool autumn as though it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.  _ Besides Emma _ , she thinks, and barely restrains the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.

She claps a hand to her lips, keeping the delirium firmly pressed down, the unconscious gesture belying both her jubilation and her nerves. She has no idea what this means, what this is  _ going  _ to mean. All she knows is  _ Emma doesn’t want to marry him _ . Emma thought she was happy until  _ something else _ showed her that she wasn't. And, as far as she knows, only one out of the ordinary thing happened to Emma this week.

_ Her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? 
> 
> Feedback always encouraged (slash begged for).


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing this instead of actual work, woot!
> 
> I can't tell if one of the lines in here is something I read, or something I made up, so if you recognize your own work here, please let me know and I will change it.

Regina isn’t particularly concerned when she doesn’t hear from Emma that night - or at least she attempts to not be. _Everything is fine, Emma doesn’t hate you_. She’s trying her level best to understand the headspace that the other woman must be in, at the moment, and her own role in the chaos surrounding Emma and her current life choices. If their positions were reversed, she’s not sure she would be holding it together as well as Emma has been, and she knows that she would certainly not want to be near the cause of her consternation, generally preferring to be left alone, when in turmoil, rather than in close proximity to the source.

So, she waits.

The second night, she’s less understanding, struggling with the carefully constructed distance that Emma is manufacturing, and resisting the urge to simply storm the other woman’s metaphorical castle and take what she wants. Emma doesn’t want Hook, Emma wants her, _she thinks_ , so what’s the holdup? This is what they’ve been playing at for years, they’ve never had a better shot than right now – neither one currently hates the other, sharing Henry has long since ceased to be a struggle, there’s no demons or monsters attacking the town, Emma isn’t engaged to the Pirate, and she’d lay money on odds that herself and Snow aren’t enemies anymore either. However, she knows this has to be Emma’s choice, familiar with the stubbornness of the other woman - understanding full well that you can lead a horse to water but by God if that horse doesn’t _want_ to express their emotions, you won’t be having a nice chat any time soon, that’s for sure.

So, she waits again.

The third night, she’s done waiting. Her patience was wearing thin, as it was, and now the threadbare string has snapped. She doesn’t _need_ Emma to express an undying declaration of love, right now, but she sure as hell isn’t going to sit around and let the twit work herself deeper into a panicked hole of abandonment and inadequacy issues. She grabs her coat and scarf, searching for her gloves as her phone goes off. She answers Mary-Margaret’s call tersely, balancing the woman’s suspiciously knowing gazes earlier in the week, with the fact that she hasn’t said anything to Regina either, in the past few days, and she’s not sure exactly where they stand.

Mary-Margaret seems to understand her frustration, though, as she keeps the exchange of information short and to the point. “Emma needs you. She’s at the bar, drinking with Hook.”

Regina feels her stomach drop out from under her, and she nearly hangs up at the words, collapsing against the wall. _Emma is with Hook, Emma is back with Hook, Emma isn’t going to leave him, how could she be so stupid-_

“She broke off the engagement” Mary-Margaret says quickly “she did, Regina, they’re just dealing with it, together, by getting extremely drunk, and she needs you to come pick her up.”

Regina slumps, completely drained by the emotional roller coaster that she seems to have unknowingly bought a season pass for, and idly considers the pros and cons of casting another curse, perhaps just her this time, a nice tropical island, no one around for miles and miles…

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but she is absolutely wasted, Regina” the tone is stern as Mary-Margaret continues “she needs you. You want her, now go and get her.”

Regina says weakly “But, I-”

Mary-Margaret hangs up on her.

After glaring at the phone for a solid sixty seconds she storms out the door, heads for her car, and drives to the bar, slamming the door shut behind her when she arrives, and pacing back and forth in the parking lot, trying to rationalize her consternation - wondering if she should just turn back, unsure if her presence is more helpful or harmful.

Ultimately, she decides that making sure Emma is safe, and has a sober ride home overrides any awkwardness that might ensue, and she pulls the door open sharply, stalking across the grimy floor, past the seedy Jukebox in the corner, to an equally disgusting bar table, at which Emma and Hook are…locked in an arm wrestling competition?

The struggle appears to have been going on for some time now, judging by the small crowd of onlookers that have gathered to watch. Regina doesn’t know how to interject herself into this situation, but she’s certainly not going to show it. She’s never known how to do anything small, so she plays her strengths, and goes big, stepping directly up to Emma and fitting her body to the other woman’s with barely an inch between them, purring “Sherriff Swan” huskily into Emma’s ear.

Emma shrieks and jumps in surprise and Hook, not one to miss an advantage, slams her hand down on the table, whooping in victory, and crowing “That’ll be the next round on you then, love” as Emma’s glare finds Regina. “You made me lose!”

Hook cackles “I would have won anyway, Swan.” Emma sputters angrily, in response, and turns back around to him, downing her drink and pointing an accusatory finger at his face, “I was winning until Regina, um, distracted me.” Her finger sways, absently, and she trails off as though unsure if she should finish her sentence.

Hook snickers, and stands up, pushing back from the table and swaggering to the bar, calling for a shot of rum and loudly stating “This one’s on the Sheriff” which makes Emma whip around to Regina and complain “Why did you do that, I was winning!”

Regina is close enough to Emma to practically taste the whiskey on her breath, and she isn’t sure if Emma is _actually_ angry, or if she’s just belligerently drunk, so she carefully adopts an unbothered expression and crosses her arms, staring back at Emma stubbornly. “I don’t think anyone is winning, in this situation” she drawls, raising a challenging eyebrow, that Emma seems to be unable to stop staring at, as her eyes trace the edges of Regina’s face, her focus less sharp than usual, but still Regina feels the implied caress in _every_ part of her body.

She pulls back and puts some distance between them, and Emma seems to remember herself, turning to get another drink. Regina snags her arm, lightly, and cautions “Maybe it’s time to go home?”

Emma sways on her feet, her hair askew, as she attempts to determine which of the multiple Regina’s she sees is the one talking to her. “I’m celebrating” she manages, with a half grin, “You should celebrate too.”

Regina snorts, and steadies her with a gentle touch. “I think maybe you’ve been celebrating a bit too much. This seems like a bad decision, much like your involvement with the walking eyeliner advertisement over there” she nods at Hook, who is approaching with what appears to be as much of the town’s alcohol supply as he can carry, and/or shove in his pockets.

“You don’t have a monopoly on stupid decisions, _Regina_ ” Emma slurs, sloshing the drink Hook hands her, as she punctuates her words with a determined, if off balance gesture.

“Yeah!” Hook agrees loudly, then after considering, shoots Emma a look. “Hey!”

Emma looks confused. Hook looks slightly offended. Regina looks like she maybe wants to set everything on fire.

Unsteadily, Emma takes a step toward Regina, and slowly topples into her. Regina catches her, and pats her head softly. She casts a glance towards Hook who is watching them, dejectedly, though he doesn’t seem to be at all surprised. Perhaps Emma hadn’t mentioned _why_ she had broken off the engagement, she thinks, though she would be surprised if he didn’t know now. Emma was nuzzling her nose into Regina’s neck, and murmuring completely incoherent, but seemingly sweet things into her skin, and it’s _doing things_ to Regina.

“We’re leaving” she tells Emma, who nods vaguely as Regina turns her around and heads towards the door, her arms around Emma protectively, guiding her faltering steps.

“I had to try, you understand?” Hook calls after her, and she turns, meet his eyes. He looks lost, and dejected, gaze suddenly sober and full of complete and total poignancy - and she _does_ understand. She does. Emma is priceless, absolutely one of a kind, a rarity, and if she had been in the man’s shoes – had had even _half_ a chance with her - she would have had no choice but to try, as well.

It’s why they’ve gotten here, in the first place, isn’t it? This is her half a chance, right?

She can respect his determination, if nothing else, and the fact that he recognizes Emma’s worth and value just as much as she does. The realization that they share a common perspective, and his acceptance of Emma’s wishes - the ability to put her ahead of himself - makes her hate him just a little bit less.

She nods, in response, feeling, for the first time, genuine empathy at his loss. She can’t imagine what it would be like to have Emma and lose her, to have her love you until one day she doesn’t, and she hopes she’ll never have to find out.

She slides her card out of her bag and hands it to a passing waitress as she walks by, her gaze never leaving Hook’s, and says simply “I’ll be taking care of Mr. Jones’ bill, tonight. I’ll be back to pick this up in the morning.” The waitress’s eyes widen, and Regina can feel her weighing the possible risks of explaining what she supposes is the enormity of the tab she is about to incur, but she accepts the card without comment, after a moment, and scurries away.

The pirate inclines his head slowly, in thanks, and Regina does the same. His smile is sad, but her silent acknowledgement of his pain seems to have inspired a sense of validation, and he turns away without further comment, pulled into a sea of his friends and sailors, leaving Regina to care for the now nearly asleep Emma cradled in her arms.

She pours Emma into the front seat of her car and straps her in, carefully, making sure that her hair is tucked neatly behind her so that it doesn’t get caught in the strap, and closes the door. She drives slower than she normally would – the last thing she wants is for Emma to get carsick right now – and listens to Emma’s breathing, monitoring every sound and change of rhythm to ensure that she’s not in any distress.

Emma groans and Regina looks over, reaching out and running her hand back and forth over Emma’s leg, soothingly. Emma mutters something, but Regina can’t make it out.

“Speak up, dear.”

“I said, feels nice” Emma mumbles, her hand coming around and dropping over Regina’s, twining their fingers together, running her thumb up and down the side of Regina’s hand. She pulls the hand up to her lips and kisses it, mouthing at Regina’s skin. “So soft” she marvels, and Regina has to fight to pay attention to the roadway, her heart racing at the simple touch, and the tender moment.

“Emma…” she starts, and has to clear her throat. “Emma, you can’t do that while I’m driving. It’s…distracting” she breathes, and Emma smiles with a hint of evil in her half-lidded eyes. She lets their hands drop but doesn’t disentangle them, simply letting them rest on her leg again, Regina’s hand in hers.

Regina isn’t sure how they got here, but she’s almost disappointed when they arrive at her house, having driven there on autopilot, and she has to let go of Emma’s hand to come around to the side and help her out of the car. She isn’t sure if Emma would rather be here, or at her parent’s house, but _she_ would rather Emma stay with her, here, the thought of parting now, after three days of ‘radio silence’, almost unbearable to her.

Emma falls into her again, though softly, and nuzzles her neck in the same spot as before. Regina swallows and grips Emma’s biceps, trying to create a bit of space, but her traitorous body is unable to follow through on the command, and she ends up pulling Emma closer, wrapping her arms around her and swaying in place, the cool air refreshing on her face, and the night quiet and peaceful. She can’t think of a single thing she would rather be doing than this.

Emma however, seems to have other plans, as her nuzzling turns intimate, her teeth nipping gently over Regina’s throat, and her tongue darting out to taste the skin underneath her attention, ghosting kisses over each tiny bite, soothing the soft attacks.

Regina groans and turns away, utilizing every ounce of her internal strength and moral code to push Emma back, slightly, her hands sliding down to grab Emma’s to make sure she understands that this isn’t a rejection. Emma looks confused, at first, but smiles softly and whispers “I know what you’re doing, but you _really_ don’t have to hold back.”

Regina closes her eyes, drawing on her reserves of willpower which are nearly depleted at this point, and nods. “Yes, I _really_ do.”

Emma kisses her cheek. “Okay” she whispers. “That’s okay.”

Regina pulls Emma towards the house, locking the front door behind them, as they enter, and leading Emma up the stairs. She shows Emma to the guest room, but Emma shakes her head and motions to her own room. Regina bites her lip, she _wants_ Emma to sleep with her, but the amount of turned on she is at Emma’s near presence is simply obscene, and all she wants to _do_ is drive her fingers inside herself and come, so she can end the ache, and she _definitely_ can’t do that with Emma _right there_.

In the end, she still can’t deny Emma anything, so she nods, guiding Emma into her bedroom and pulling out a sleep shirt for her. Emma strips off her clothes, looking directly into Regina’s eyes, who feels like she should probably win an award for the iron clad way her eyes stay on Emma’s face until the last second, and she can’t help but rake her eyes over Emma’s form, the lithe curves beautiful in the low lights, her skin creamy and smooth, her muscles defined and her strength evident.

She turns away, changing quickly into a long t-shirt when Emma uses the bathroom, and washes her face, pointing out a toothbrush to Emma when she returns, and brushing her teeth as well. Emma grins at her, around the brush, and she doesn’t have to say anything out loud, Regina knows - it’s _fucking domestic_ and she can’t help but love it.

They slip into bed, and Regina turns the lights out, listening to Emma’s breathing patterns, the smell of the other woman so very present, surrounding her with its heady scent, filling her space and making her lightheaded. She unconsciously runs a hand over her skin, shivering at the sensation, wishing it were Emma’s hand, Emma’s fingers, Emma’s touch, Emma’s-

She pulls her hand away sharply, and turns, facing away from the other woman, attempting to breath naturally. She feels the bed shift behind her, and the covers being pushed down, hears the slide of hands over fabric. Emma lets out the tiniest moan, so low that if Regina weren’t hyper aware of her every move, at the moment, she might have missed it.

She feels Emma’s hands move, and she turns back towards her, her breath short, and the ache between her legs intensifying, as she sees Emma sliding her fingers under her shirt, lightly running up and down her stomach and the tops of her legs, teasing herself. She hears a soft intake of breath from the other woman and her heart races, this _can’t_ be happening. But it is.

She hears another soft moan, though louder this time than the first, and she reaches out, laying her hand on Emma’s arm. Emma doesn’t stop moving, a bit firmer now, and she turns her head towards Regina, breathing “Please.”

Regina stops breathing. She is frozen, warring with herself, torn between needing to touch Emma and the boundaries of drunken consent. “Please” she hears again, “I need it, Regina, _please_.”

Regina is absolutely beyond control, at this point, the best she can do is split the difference, her hand moving to rest lightly on top of Emma’s as she whispers “Keep going.”

Emma groans, and moves her hand up, lightly cupping her own breast and wrapping her fingers around the sensitive flesh, squeezing gently. Regina sucks in air, and can’t help but increasing the pressure over Emma’s fingers with her own, tightening Emma’s grip, and feeling the other woman push up, into her grasp, as she kneads the soft breast.

Panting, now, Emma pinches at her nipple, and it instantly hardens into a point. Regina lets her fingers slip through Emma’s to graze the peak, and Emma shudders, her hand flexing in response.

She slides her hand down her stomach, across her abdomen, taking Regina’s hand with it, skating over warm skin, and tight muscles, weaving patterns across velvet smoothness, the journey leaving Regina’s mouth dry, her heart pounding, as Emma traverses her own body.

She can feel how tense Emma is, her body straining against her hand, and she can tell Emma is going slow for her, wondering idly if this is how she pleasures herself when she’s alone, or if she prefers it hard and fast, whether she teases herself for long agonizing moments before driving her fingers inside and releasing her energy in a burst.

Emma slides her hand closer to her center, and draws small circles on her thighs, and Regina knows she’s waiting for her, for some gesture of permission, and Regina gives it to her, moving Emma’s hand to her slick core, feeling the wetness slip beneath Emma’s fingers as she rounds her clit with a gasp.

Regina groans and rests her forehead against Emma’s shoulder, slipping up the fabric of her sleeve and kissing the skin she finds beneath her lips. “You’re so wet for me, Emma” she murmurs, and Emma responds with a sharp motion across her swollen lips, over the tiny nub again. Regina reaches up and flicks her tongue over Emma’s ear, and just behind, sucking lightly on the pressure point.

Emma cries out and rocks back and forth against her hand, _their hands_ , in tiny perpetual motions, keening in the back of her throat as the pleasure builds. Regina can feel her getting close, and she moves Emma’s hand away before she can come, hearing the frustrated sob, and soothing Emma with light fluttered kisses on her jaw.

“Inside” she commands, her voice low, next to Emma’s ear. Emma turns into the vibrations of her mouth, her head instinctively moving towards Regina, as she moves her hand back to her dripping body and Regina can feel the penetration as if she _is_ Emma, the single digit reaching deep inside as Emma’s body ripples with sensation.

Emma adds another finger, without instruction, and Regina can feel her tensing, the pull low and tight in her stomach, her body seizing as she reaches with her thumb to dart over her clit. She shifts and suddenly Regina can feel her, moving in and out of her own body, whimpering as she fucks herself, slow and deep.

Regina growls softly, and slides one of her own fingers inside of her, joining the two of Emma’s, moving in and out, stretching Emma’s walls, her body closing around the intrusion, drawing it deeper, the vicarious sensations almost too much for Regina to withstand.

Regina reaches her other hand down between her own legs. It doesn’t take much, one touch, two, and then she is coming, just as Emma does, and she bites down on Emma’s shoulder, causing the other woman to cry out as she comes. She can feel Emma spasming around their fingers, her muscles clamping down and rippling across the combined invasion. The intensity of her orgasm nearly induces a black out, but she maintains consciousness long enough to slip out of Emma gently, turning her face and quieting her protests with a tender kiss, wrapping her up in the down comforter, and sliding her arms around Emma’s shoulders.

Emma snuggles up to her and she holds her as tightly as she can, letting her mind drift, dozing off with a faint smile on her lips, feeling warm and safe.

Everything else can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, questions, concerns?


	5. Chapter Five

The sunlight bathes her eyelids in pleasant warmth, and she wakes gradually, her senses coming online as she inhales the familiar scent of _Emma_ , who is currently tangled in her arms, their legs entwined, skin dappled in shadows and light, tones of subtle contrast present as creamy paleness slides slowly across deep bronze.

Emma moves sleepily against her, stirring slightly. Regina instinctively moves to pull her even closer, raising up on her elbow and looking downward at Emma’s face – falling into pools of deep emerald when the other woman finally opens her eyes and blinks up at her, dazed, raising soft fingertips to her cheek as though unsure if the woman she sees above her is a dream or not.

Regina is tired of waiting, tired of wondering, she wants to feel the softness of Emma’s lips against hers again, and so she does, kissing the corner of Emma’s mouth and nibbling on her strong jaw, nuzzling into her ear and biting gently on the spot she had claimed the previous night, causing Emma to hum with contentment.

Emma’s hips undulate gently, against Regina, not asking for anything, just enjoying the feeling of the other woman pressed against her. She turns her chin toward Regina and captures her mouth, bringing her hands up to cup the older woman’s cheeks, the kiss deep and sensual. Regina groans into Emma’s touch, the simple caress of Emma’s fingers against her skin sending waves of ache down her body.

“Good morning” Emma whispers, her voice rough from sleep, as Regina pulls back, resting her forehead against the blonde’s. Regina simply purrs in response, satisfaction washing through her, idly ghosting the back of her knuckles back and forth across the expanse of exposed skin on Emma’s stomach, the other playing with a lock of golden hair, her voice escaping her at the moment. The lack of particularity seems to amuse Emma, but Regina doesn’t care, _she can’t stop touching Emma, she wants to be close to her, so close_.

Emma closes her eyes, enjoying the soft touches, still half asleep, and Regina takes the opportunity to slide farther down Emma’s body, kissing her neck and tracing the tip of her tongue along a bare collarbone, the skin warm from the sunlight. Her cheek brushes lightly against Emma’s chest and Emma hums contentedly, pulling her shirt up and over her head sleepily, casting it aside, unashamedly reaching her hand up to tangle in Regina’s hair, guiding her to where she wants her.

Her mouth closes over Emma’s nipple and the peak hardens under her tongue, the pebbled skin sensitive beneath Regina’s attention, as she caresses Emma’s other breast with her hand. _She could get used to morning Emma_ , she thinks, barriers down, soft and profound. She wants this, she wants to wake up with Emma, and go to sleep with Emma, to share these moments with her.

The intensity of her feelings overwhelms her and she bites down on Emma’s nipple harder than she intended to. Emma gasps, her fingers tightening in Regina’s hair as she bucks up against the other woman with a groan.

Regina notes the reaction with interest, and sinks her teeth into the flesh of Emma’s breast again, as a test. Emma grinds her hips into Regina as her breathing stutters, her hand slipping from Regina’s hair unconsciously downward to touch herself.

Regina pins her wrist to the bed with a shake of her head and continues her attack on Emma’s chest. Emma whines with need and her hips pulse against Regina, who slides down Emma’s body, lithe and agile, hands caressing soft dips and sharp ridges, her tongue pressing hard on Emma’s hip flexor, alternating nips and soothing kisses.

She breathes cool air across Emma’s heat, and the sound Emma makes almost causes her to lose control but she is determined to take her time, to savor the woman like the rarest of indulgences, every moment exquisite torture.

Breathing in Emma’s scent she groans and darts her tongue out to taste her, glancing across her clit for the tiniest of seconds, but she’s ready for the jerk of Emma’s hips, her hands holding the other woman firmly in place, not allowing her the freedom of movement, listening to Emma pant in response, knowing that her fingertips will mark the pale skin, and she grins, ferally, pleased at knowing she will leave her mark on this beautiful canvas.  

“Jesus, Regina.”

She feels the vibration more than she hears the words, and she glances up with half hooded eyes at Emma, who is watching her with her mouth open, eyes dark, her fingers tangled in the sheets, and she realizes that her aesthetic, to Emma, is as much a part of the moment as her tongue is.

Pulling up on her knees so that her ass is on display, she grins at Emma and slides her hands up her sides and back down, caressing the other woman softly as she counterpoints with a fast tongue, thrusting hard and deep inside of her, pressing as far as she can, burying herself inside the other woman.

Emma’s head falls back against the pillow, crying out in pleasure, as she tries to drive her hips down, to force Regina further inside of herself, sobbing when Regina’s hands keep her still as she fucks her.

Morning Emma is easily stimulated, she’s already close, the teasing wet slickness of Regina’s tongue, the feeling of complete openness, the knowledge that this is _Regina, God, this is Regina_ , all combine to push her so close and she doesn’t particularly want to hold back either, there’s no reason to.

She slides her hands down to tangle her hands in Regina’s, who looks up at her, dark eyes meeting black ones, and she knows Regina is reading her face, reading her body, reading her god damned soul, maybe, and she nods up at Emma, sliding her tongue up to Emma’s clit, swirling around in wide arcs, then tightening to the finest of concentric circles.

She slides one hand away from Emma’s, reaching down, around, under, and then Emma feels her fingers, two, then three, slow but deep, the stretch just beyond maddening, and Emma can’t move, can’t breathe, just feel, as her orgasm stirs in her lower belly and claws its way out, into Regina’s mouth and onto her hands.

Shuddering, she whimpers, keening, as Regina strokes her hips softly, working her through the waves of pleasure, pushing her high and letting her come down slowly, the tremors pulsing through her.

She lies panting, as Regina pulls back and off her clit, though leaving her fingers nestled inside, and slides up Emma’s body, settling between her legs and wrapping a hand at the back of her neck to pull her in for a deep kiss. Emma reaches shaking hands up and weaves them through Regina’s hair, floating sensually on another plane, her only anchor the other woman.

Regina finally pulls out of her and turns on her side, next to Emma, pulling the blonde into her arms, where she nestles contentedly, slipping slowly back down into a doze, wrapped tightly around Regina, who snuggles as close as she can, savoring Emma’s presence.

_She could definitely get used to this._

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress. I don't have a Beta, so all errors are mine alone :)
> 
> Constructive Criticism welcome! Hope you enjoyed.


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